


Paris couldn’t stand the smell of cinnamon for months…

by efficaceous



Category: Lords of the Underworld, The Darkest Seduction
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efficaceous/pseuds/efficaceous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short story to illuminate the (As of the Darkest Seduction now canon) hookup between Strider and Paris from Gena Showalter's Lords of the Underworld Series</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paris couldn’t stand the smell of cinnamon for months…

_Earlier…_

“Dude, I’m trying not to take that as a challenge…” Strider gritted his teeth as his demon stretched inside his skin, horns scraping his spine from the wrong side, hearing the whine in his mind… _Win?_  He stood at the side of the bed, hands on hips, fisted so he wouldn’t reach out and move the damp wisp of hair from Paris’ eyes.

            Paris could barely shake his head, couldn’t even manage to shift his body further away, he was so weak; but even the prospect of Strider taking his situation personally was horrifying. He knew his own demon was sending out those damn pheromones again, all dark chocolate and expensive champagne, and so maybe that’s one part of why Strider wasn’t looking too terribly upset at the idea of … helping Paris out. But truly, Paris wasn’t into men. And he knew that if he and Strider took this step he wouldn’t be able to get it out of his mind, or to feel clean, ever again while looking at his friend.

            “Look, I know what you need. Just a little pick-me-up, so you can walk again, and then get your own some-some.” Strider tried to end with a grin, but it got all twisted up with his own intense craving for the high that came with a victory, no matter how small. And this victory would NOT be a small matter- the pleasure his demon spurted into his veins after winning over the strongly hetero warrior would far surpass any physical bonus he got from the encounter. The grin was a little too intense, and he knew he was freaking Paris out, so he stepped back to lean against the door to Paris’ room, and crossed his muscled arms across his chest, trying to smooth his features.

            “No… I don’t want this. Not from you. I don’t like you that way.” Paris wheezed the words out on a series of gasps, feeling like his heart would stop beating in mere moments. This was the longest he had ever gone without any sexual activity, and he was beginning to believe Zeus, or Cronus, or the One True Deity, or WHOMEVER, was going to let him actually die this way. (Maybe let his neck wither and his head fall off- would that count as beheading? He wondered…)

But if Strider did this, of his own accord, Paris would be hard pressed to let himself return to this state. It just went against his nature to not touch others, to not compliment women, to not try and please his partners to the best of his ability. He was cold, and he was lonely and his demon was a constant thrumming in the back of his head.

“Fuck you. Everyone likes me that way.”  Strider knew as soon as Paris spoke that he was committed to trying to revive the wan Keeper of Promiscuity, no matter what it took. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and Paris had no idea what he was getting into. And yeah, Stridey-monster might have been getting a little excited at the idea of finding out _finally_ whether the pale man lying on the bed could actually taste as good as he smelled. Strider shook his head, trying to keep himself focused on the task at hand. This was not going to be for his own benefit, it was all for the win. _Win_! The whine in his head was firmer this time.

            Paris just closed his eyes, too tired even to argue. And maybe this would be for the best. Next time he would just make sure to try and commit slow suicide by sexual starvation somewhere more isolated. Like… South Dakota. No one lived in South Dakota, really, right?

At least it was Strider, and not, say, Kane. They would both have been in bad shape after any encounter between himself and the Keep of Disaster. He could trust Strider at least to never, ever, bring this up again. No snide comments or jokes. He could get just enough energy to make his way to the middle of nowhere, far away from his meddling, helpful, brothers-by-circumstance and die properly.

            The assent implied by Paris’ disinclination to argue was enough for Strider. He stepped away from the door and stared down at the man in the bed, at the full lips better suited to a woman, at the strong jaw that could never be anything but totally masculine….  Strider licked his lips.

_Later…_

 

            Paris had scowlingly fled to the shower, leaving Strider to bask in the afterglow alone. And it was some afterglow. _He tastes exactly like he smells…_ mused the sweat dampened but sated man lying in the twisted sheets. The rush of the victory was pumping through his veins like lightening, but there was an additional high that was pure masculine sexual satisfaction. Then Strider recalled the caveat of being with Paris- it could only ever be once.

_Never again…?_ Part of him mourned that he would never get to enjoy the other warriors lush mouth and hard body again. It was going to take a long time to forget these hours, and a very special woman to appeal to him on such a basic, feral level.  _Woman? Maybe not… maybe I’m unfairly restricting the world’s population by limiting my awesomeness to only half the adults on the planet?_

            Reluctantly he got up, hearing the shower still running. He wanted to stay and crow his success over Paris’ reservations, but he knew his friend needed space now. Pulling on his pants, fisting his tee shirt, he paused in slipping on his boots to call into the attached bathroom; “You can just leave the tip on the dresser!”

            “Asshole!” Strider purposefully didn’t hear Paris’ growled response, sliding into the hallway, glancing deliberately up at the surveillance camera in the corner and putting a finger to his lips. Torin wouldn’t say anything. Good man. _Pretty man._  

            No. No way. Strider laughed at himself and bounded off to shower in his own bathroom. Maybe not Torin, but there were plenty of handsome men to be found in Buda. Strider knew just the club, and just the outfit to wear….


End file.
